What Happens in Oxford Stays in Oxford
by princessozmaofoz
Summary: On a trip to Oxford, Lightman and Torres find themselves wrapped up in both a diverting new case and in the personal lives of the local police force. Lewis/ Lie to Me Crossover.
1. Chapter 1

Title: What Happens in Oxford Stays in Oxford

Summary: On a trip to Oxford, Lightman and Torres find themselves wrapped up in both a diverting new case and in the personal lives of the local police force. Lewis/ Lie to Me Crossover

_Disclaimer: I don't own __Lewis __or __Lie to Me.__ If I DID own them, I would have found a way made this crossover happen for real. Also, I think I'm setting this during season 1 of __Lie to Me __and the corresponding season of __Lewis __ (Series 3)._

Chapter One

" So you're alright?"

" Are you daft? I've just been mugged! Of course, I'm not 'alright!'" Detective Chief Superintendent Jean Innocent of the Oxfordshire Police shouted into the phone to her husband.

" I know, Jean. I understand that you're a bit shaken right now. I only wanted to ensure that you're okay _physically._ You are—aren't you?"

" I suppose," she admitted.

Thomas Innocent sighed in relief. "Now, tell me again. What did they take?"

She took a deep breath to calm herself. " My mobile, my handbag which had about 20 pounds cash and all of my credit cards in it. I've already called the phone company and the credit card companies to cancel my accounts."

" Excellent work. Did they take anything else?"

" My earrings, my watch, and…and my rings. Wedding and engagement both. Chris promised he'd search all of the pawnshops in London for me after I return home tonight. I'm also going to look online, but the chances of finding them are slim at best."

" Well, if you don't find them, we can always shop for new rings after I come home at the end of the month," Thomas replied.

" The end of the month? I thought you were returning next week."

There was an uncomfortable silence that Mr. Innocent finally had the courage to end.

" Well…it… turns out that the company needs me to stay a bit longer than previously anticipated."

" I…I see," Jean responded, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. She'd never admit it to him, but she'd secretly been hoping that he'd come immediately home after he'd heard what had happened to her. She should have known better. Jean had married Mr. Innocent after all, not Mr. Romantic-and-Impulsive.

It wasn't that Thomas didn't love her; his career just always came first in his life. She recollected the countless business trips that he attended without her and the numerous occasions that he'd canceled his plans with her at the last minute. He always bought her flowers or jewelry to make up for it, and she hadn't the heart to tell Thomas that she didn't want flowers or jewelry; she wanted her husband's company.

" I've been thinking, Jean. Why don't you come down and see me for a few days? Paris is beautiful this time of year."

It was a tempting offer—one that might allow her to alleviate the pervasive anxiety she'd experienced as of late. The press had had a field day with the police's poor handling of the Myles Harrison case. Not only had the Oxfordshire Police failed to realize that the bright young medical student was the arsonist that they were after, but they'd also been made to look like fools when a visiting American psychologist and his young protégé had uncovered the truth. Although Jean Innocent had met neither Cal Lightman nor Ria Torres, she loathed them anyway. Because of their meddlesome snooping, Jean had been subject to an intense hour-long lecture from the chief constable. The lecture had been so bad, in fact, that it had moved her to tears, a rare and unwelcome occurrence for one who prided herself on her ability to keep her personal feelings private.

Yes, a respite was exactly what she needed, and she could think of no place she'd rather spent it than in Paris. Some time with Thomas in the " City of Love" would certainly keep her mind off things. And if all went well, this trip might even repair the strain in her marriage.

But when she really thought about it, she realized that this wouldn't be the case. Whether she was in France or England, she'd continue think about the chief constable's harsh criticism. And where Thomas was concerned, things in Paris would be little different than they would be in Oxford. She'd spend the day alone, trying to amuse herself as she waited for her husband's meetings to let out. Then, they'd have boring conversations about his job over dinner. Finally, they'd go to bed sometime around eleven-thirty.

Thomas usually wanted to go to sleep right away, so that he'd be well rested for work the next morning. If, however, he was facing extreme pressures at work, Mr. Innocent would develop a voracious carnal appetite that he'd expect his wife to satiate, regardless of Jean herself was feeling at the time.

" I'm sure it is, Tom," she said finally. " I'd love to come, but I really feel that I'm needed in Oxford right now."

And she _was_; she was currently supervising four separate rape cases and three murder cases in addition to countless petty crimes. Besides, she knew that she needed to prove herself to the chief constable soon if she ever wanted to live down the shame of the Harrison case.

" That's a pity; I was hoping you'd be able to come."

That was a surprise. She'd initially assumed that Thomas had asked her, because he felt guilty about abandoning her in Oxford for so long. Could it be that he missed her as much as she missed him?

" You were?" she asked, flushing slightly.

" Yes, I was. A few hours with you in that large, comfortable hotel bed, and I'm sure I'd forget all about the horrendous week I've been having."

Her face fell. Of course. Thomas only wanted her body, and he only wanted that, because he thought a little lovemaking might help him release his career tensions. Jean sighed in frustration. She should be satisfied that he still wanted her and not some other woman, should be flattered that he thought she could help him. But it just wasn't enough.

She longed for the day when he'd finally choose her over everything else in his life, for the day when their intimacy—both physical and emotional—was not solely dictated by how good his day at work had been. More than that, she needed to know that she was special to him, needed to know that he saw her as more than just his means of coping with professional concerns. She decided to take a chance.

" You know that I love you, Tom—don't you?"

" Of course, of course," he replied and then returned the subject to the horrendous week he'd been having.

_One Day Later_

Dr. Cal Lightman took the glass that the barman handed him and drained it immediately. A moment later, he asked for another and resolved to take his time with this one. He didn't want to get too drunk, even though he was the sort of man who held his liquor well. He took a small sip and thought about his trip to Oxford so far. It hadn't been a complete bust after all; his lecture at a prominent Oxford college today had gone over well, and he and Ria had solved a crime that had been baffling the local police force for weeks.

But Lightman had failed at achieving his one goal. He'd told everyone back in DC that he was going to Oxford, because an old psychology professor had invited him. He hoped they believed them. The trouble about working with a group of human polygraphs was the increased likelihood that someone would guess that Lightman's explanation wasn't the whole truth.

He wondered if Gillian had figured it out. Of all of his colleagues, she'd known him the longest and had always been uncannily aware with his feelings. Sometimes, he felt as though she knew him better than he knew himself.

The thought occurred to him that he was thinking of Gillian again, something he'd sworn not to do. He'd come to England to get away from her and yet he still had not left her. She continued to linger in his thoughts and in his dreams.

What he needed was a distraction, something—or _someone_ ideally—to make him forget about Gillian if only temporarily. He glanced around the pub absently, and his eyes finally locked upon a striking brunette standing by the door.

_Just what the doctor ordered._

The woman walked over to the bar and ordered a drink. He took advantage of this opportunity to study her further. She was just as attractive up close as she'd been from a distance—_more_ attractive even, now that he was in a better position to admire her curves. The woman then sat down with her drink on a bar stool a few places away from Lightman. She took a small sip from her glass, and he watched her graceful throat ripple as she swallowed.

Then without turning her head at all, she spoke. " Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to stare?"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

" Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to stare?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Jean Innocent saw the man she had been addressing fight back a smirk.

" I should think that a woman as pretty as you are would be accustomed to men's stares."

Innocent turned her head to look the man in the eye. " I fail to see why that's any of your concern." She tried to keep her face stony, although a reluctant smile kept threatening to overtake her face. It had been a long time since anyone had called her "pretty."

He moved over to the stool next to hers." Don't bother trying to conceal it; I can tell that you're flattered."

Jean opened her mouth in protest, and the man laughed. " Oh, please. I can read you like a book."

" So you're claiming to read minds now?" she scoffed disbelievingly.

" No, just faces."

" Well, I'd appreciate it if you stopped trying to read mine."

He laughed again. " I didn't need to _try_, luv. You made it way too easy."

She crossed her arms across her chest. " Is that supposed to impress me?"

He stroked his unshaven chin thoughtfully. "I can't say for sure whether it's _supposed_ to impress you, but I can say for sure that it _does."_

" How would you know?"

His eyes twinkled." Ah, I'm afraid that I can't tell you that, luv unless…"

" Unless what?"

" Unless you're willing to answer a few of my own questions first."

" Such as …"

He took a long swig of his beer before responding." What's your name?"

" Laura, Laura Hobson." Innocent replied, choosing the first name that came to mind. Something about this man made her very nervous.

" Care to tell me your _real_ name?"

" That _is_ my real name."

" You're not fooling me, luv, though your effort is charming."

Innocent sipped her drink, mindful that the man was still watching her and waiting eagerly for her response.

"It's Jean," she said finally.

The strange man winked playfully." See that wasn't so hard—was it Jean? Now, is there a last name that goes along with this?"

" There is."

" Are you going to tell me what it is?"

The chief superintendent shook her head." No, I don't think so."

" Well, then you force me to ask another question. What are you doing here?"

Innocent, meanwhile, had a few questions of her own. One: who was this man, and why was he so bloody nosy? Two: Could he really "read" her face or had his previous "analyses" been lucky guesses? And three: wasn't there anyone else he could harass?

" Here as in this pub or here as in Oxford?"

" Both."

" Well, I live and work in Oxford, and I'm in this pub, because I'm supposed to meet a friend," she responded, hoping that the friend in question would turn up soon. She was starting to understand how it felt to be on the opposite end of an interrogation room table.

" This friend wouldn't happen to be the Laura Hobson you mentioned earlier—now would it?"

" No, it would not."

" You're lying, though I can't imagine why," he said amusedly.

" Maybe, because I'm not in the habit of sharing my life story with complete strangers?" she snapped.

" I'm hardly asking for your life story, luv. I just want to know a bit more about you."

She gave a harsh laugh. "That's a bit rich considering you've yet to tell me a thing about yourself."

" On the contrary, you already know three things," he said, a smug smile firmly planted on his face.

" Oh, I do—do I?"

" One, I can read faces. Two, I think you're pretty. And three, I'd like to get to know you better." His eyes bored into hers in a way that suggested that he was mentally baring both her mind and her body.

To her chagrin, she found herself blushing and broke his gaze." You still know more about me than I do about you."

"Fair enough. Why don't we continue this conversation somewhere more private—say my hotel room? I'll answer any questions you may have, and I'll even teach you a thing or two about reading faces."

" Why on earth would I want to do something like that?" She glanced up and saw that he was giving her another of those penetrating stares.

" Because you're curious, Jean; I can see it on your face. I'm an enigma to you, a mystery that you're just dying to solve, and I want to help you solve it," he said, reaching out and inching a hand slowly up her thigh.

She shoved his hand off and rose to her feet angrily." I'm not curious enough to want to crawl into bed with a man whose name I don't know!"

" Oh, is _that_ what troubling you, luv? Well, it's Lightman. Cal Lightman. Perhaps you've read my name in the papers; I recently gave your local police force a run for their money. It wasn't hard either." He gave a disgusted sigh. " Coppers. American, British, Canadian, they're all the same. So stupid that they can't see what's right in front of their eyes, and so arrogant that they don't even realize they can't see it."

That was the last straw for Innocent. She picked up her glass from the bar and proceeded to pour the remainder of her drink over Lightman's head. Then, she placed her now-empty glass back on the bar, left enough money to pay for her drink, and walked over to the door. As she prepared to exit the pub, she heard Lightman's voice again.

" If you change your mind, Jean, I'll be staying at _The Hampton_ until next Tuesday. Room 7."

She turned to face him. " I wouldn't wait up for me, if I were you. I suggest that you find some other woman instead. You know, one who actually _wants _to be a notch on some narcissistic bastard's bedpost!" Then, she walked through the door.

She was still fuming when she reached her car. It looked as though her pre-conceived notion of Cal Lightman had been appropriate; she had been perfectly right to hate him even before meeting him.

She thought with disgust of the way he'd assumed that she'd willingly sleep with him, simply because he thought she found him interesting. And that was the worst of it—in spite of it all—she _had _found him interesting. She didn't know how he'd guessed it, but he had been right; she _was _curious about who he was and what he did. Her anger intensified when she remembered that he'd also insulted the Oxfordshire police officers—_her _police officers.

Lightman was the stupid and arrogant one: stupid for trying it on with her and arrogant for thinking he had a chance of success. She was very strongly tempted to walk right back into the pub and tell him this, but she knew this was a bad idea. The last thing she needed was for him to think that he'd gotten to her; he simply wasn't worth her any more of her time and attention.

She tried to focus on something else but found herself unable to think of anything other than her indignation. Fortunately, her mobile rang a moment later, and she answered it.

" Hi, Jean. It's Laura."

" Where are you?" Jean tried to keep her voice calm, but her bad mood still came across.

Hobson clearly thought that Innocent's anger was directed towards her and was appropriately apologetic." I'm sorry; I'm afraid I lost track of time. You see, Robbie called, and we got to talking for awhile."

Innocent sighed. Although she'd never admit it to anyone, the chief superintendent was a little bit jealous of the pathologist. She wished Mr. Innocent showed her the same amount of attention that Lewis showed Hobson. " I understand," she said finally.

" Thanks. Anyway, I'm on my way right now; I'm sorry that I kept you waiting."

" Alright, but can we go somewhere else instead? I've had enough of _The Grapevine_ for one night."

" Ooo, that sounds intriguing. Am I to take it that I missed something?"

" You did," Innocent said evenly, not wanting to reveal too much. She was half-afraid that Lightman would come out of the pub and hear her talking about him.

" Well, I'd love to hear all about over a drink at _The Trout_, if that's agreeable to you."

" Okay then, I'll meet you there."

_Later that night…_

" Torres, it's me. Please open the door."

Ria Torres bristled slightly upon hearing the familiar British accent. What on earth could her boss possibly need to talk about that couldn't wait until morning?

She'd remembered that he'd gone out last night. Lightman had claimed that he wanted a drink, but Ria had known better. She'd caught a whiff of cologne when he'd passed by her and could have sworn that she'd seen him slip a condom in his pocket. She only hoped that Lightman would find some place other than his hotel room to sow his wild oats; the last few days had exhausted Torres, and she didn't want to be kept up by awkward noises coming from the room next door.

Of course, there was a very good chance that Lightman would be unsuccessful in his seduction attempt. Even if she and Lightman had been close to the same age, Torres knew that she herself would never have been romantically interested in him. He was temperamental, rude, cocky, and unbelievably stubborn. What was more, he wasn't very physically attractive; his features were rather plain and his stature rather small. Yet, as Ria had observed, a surprising number of women were nonetheless attracted to Lightman, perhaps due to the strong aura of mystery and intelligence that he manifested.

Ria suspected that she knew the motivation behind her boss's sudden desire to get laid while in Oxford; Cal Lightman was desperate to keep his mind off Gillian Foster through any method imaginable. Torres had already witnessed the way that Lightman had thrown himself into the Myles Harrison case less than a day after they'd arrived in Oxford. He'd dedicated all of his—and by default, Ria's—time and energy into finding a dangerous arsonist, and now that the case was closed, he was forced to find other ways to forget his beautiful and married coworker.

Although she had been curious to know whether Lightman had managed to get a woman up to his hotel room, Ria hadn't disturbed him. She'd decided to grant Lightman his privacy, and she'd assumed that he'd show her the same respect. Based upon the fact that Lightman was now banging loudly on her door, this had been a foolish assumption to make.

Torres crawled out of her bed and went to answer the door. Lightman walked into the room and sat down on bed. As he passed her, Ria became aware of the strong scent of brandy mingled with the scent of Lightman's cologne. She instantly grew concerned; she hoped Lightman wasn't drunk and lonely enough to attempt something he'd regret in the morning.

" So, why exactly are you waking me up at one a.m.?" she said in between massive yawns.

" Well, I… I had a question, and I was hoping you'd help me answer it."

" Well, I think that depends on what the question is," she said carefully.

" Am I a narcissistic bastard?"

" Excuse me," she glanced at him questioningly, unsure that she had heard him properly.

" That's the question. Am I a narcissistic bastard?" The somber tone of his voice so disturbed Torres that she carefully sat beside him on the bed.

Aware that Lightman would be able to catch her in even a small lie, Ria resolved to be totally honest in her answer." Bastard is a strong word," she said finally. " You're definitely full of yourself, and you can also be a real jerk sometimes. But I wouldn't go so far as to call you a 'narcissistic bastard.'"

He gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead. " Thank you, luv; that's just what I needed to hear," he replied and then got up to leave. Her voice stopped him.

" Wait! Aren't you going to explain what that was about?"

Lightman shrugged and sat back down." I suppose. I went to _The Grapevine,_ one of my old student haunts, and while I was there, I met this woman. We got to talking, and I suggested that the two of us…"

" Make wild love till three in the morning?"

" My God, Torres, do have you have to be so uncouth?"

" But I'm right—aren't I?"

" Yeah, _technically_ you're right," Lightman admitted grudgingly, "but_ I _wasn't so blunt about it. Anyway, this …this Jean didn't think much of my idea, and so she poured her drink onto my head."

" I was wondering why you seemed so sober even though you smell like a brandy decanter. I take it this woman was also the one who called you a 'narcissistic bastard.'"

He nodded. " Yeah, she…she was." He glanced off into space for a moment. "Well thanks for listening, Ria," he said, getting up and moving to the door. She followed him.

" Anytime."

He gave a slight smile. "G'night luv."

" G'night."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

DI Robbie Lewis had just finished his glass of orange juice when his mobile rang. He answered it and held it up to his ear.

" Sir, it's Hathaway. The chief super wants us over at _The Hampton_ hotel immediately; there's been a murder."

" On my way then, sergeant."

Lewis hung up, placed his empty glass and bowl in the kitchen sink, grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, and exited his house. When he arrived at his location, he put on a SOCO suit and went over to join Hathaway and Hobson. When the inspector saw the body lying on the bed, he grimaced. The corpse was completely naked, and from the neck down, was covered in thick black goo and soft feathers. Lewis glanced around the room and was quickly able to determine where the feathers had come from. Beside the bed were the shredded remains of two down pillows. Further examination of the bed itself revealed more of the black substance spread all over the cream-coloured sheets.

" Tarred-and-feathered," Lewis remarked once he'd returned his attention to the body.

" Not exactly," Hathaway said, kneeling down to take a closer look at the body. "That's not tar." Lewis looked at him querulously, and the sergeant explained. " When I was in the Fifth Form, I had a part-time job in a boat rental shop. The pay was decent, and they sometimes let me take boats out for free. Anyway, we used tar on the canoes to help repel water. I worked with my share of the substance; I recognize it when I see it, and I don't see it here."

" If it's not tar, then what is it?"

" My guess would be glue," Hobson chimed in. " It's about the right texture and thickness. Glue mixed with some sort of dye or paint to give it the black colour. We'll run some tests and will tell you when we know for sure. Although, I very much doubt the material matters much. I think they just wanted to make a statement."

" Well, they certainly did that. What do you reckon they were trying to make a statement about?"

Hathaway spoke next." Well, tar-and-feathering has been a common punishment since the medieval days for those seen as lower than dirt: common criminals, religious, ethnic, and social minorities, or even those with unpopular political views."

Lewis nodded somberly as he looked back at the body.

_' Poor sod. Whatever you've done, you didn't deserve this."_

" Anyway, the tarring-and-feathering isn't what killed him. He was hit on the temple with a blunt instrument. If you look closer, you'll see the bruising."

Lewis decided to take Hobson at her word; he had no desire to look any closer. He swallowed and returned his attention to Hathaway. " What do we know so far?"

" According to the hotel manager, the room was unoccupied last night. However, there had been a guest staying there the night before and there was going to be another checking in this afternoon. A girl from the housekeeping staff went into the room to clean it and found… found this. I've only talked with a few members of the staff so far, but they all claim not to recognize the man."

" My team hasn't found anything to identify him either. No wallet, no mobile. Nothing," Hobson chimed in.

Lewis sighed. " James, I want you to question the people in the rooms next door. They may have heard or seen something useful last night, or at this point—may even be potential suspects. I'll go talk to the concierge; he might have seen something as well. I'll come join you in a little while."

" Will do; I'll catch up with you later."

_Two Doors Over…_

Dr. Cal Lightman woke the next morning to the sound of loud voices coming from the hallway outside his room. He glanced over at the alarm clock next to his bed and groaned when he saw that it was only eight-thirty.

Lightman had booked this room, because he'd been informed that _The Hampton_ was a quiet, relaxing environment. It should have been too—with the exorbitant rates he was being charged to stay there!

In frustration, Lightman lightly tapped his head on his head on the nearest bedpost. He pulled his head back and then noticed a small indentation in the wood just beside the place he'd been banging his head.

An honest-to-God notch on his bedpost—though he, of course, hadn't been the one to carve it. Some lucky " narcissistic bastard" had already beaten him to it.

Cal Lightman wasn't sure just why, but he hadn't been able to get the woman from last night out of his mind. He was no stranger to rejection—particularly in amorous matters. Jean from _The Grapevine _certainly wasn't the prettiest woman who had ever turned him down—though she was far from the plainest.

Her insult really hadn't been all that remarkable either. He'd been called much worse names than " narcissistic bastard" before, and Jean wasn't even the first woman to have poured a drink over his head. (That honor belonged to a pint-sized redhead who he'd met on a Mediterranean cruise.)

Yet despite the fact that she should have been little more than a momentary distraction and potential one-night-stand, the woman from _The Grapevine _had proven to be more than that. There was something about her that Lightman just couldn't forget—even though he knew he'd probably never see her again.

He hadn't taken another woman back to the hotel last night, though he'd met several who would have gone with him if he had asked. Instead he'd waited up in his room until three a.m., hoping that Jean's obvious curiosity might persuade her to change her mind. He'd finally given up and had forced himself to sleep, only to find her again in his dreams.

Lightman buried his head in his pillow in an attempt to drown out the loud voices still coming from outside his bedroom. Didn't those damned early risers realize that other people were still trying to sleep? Why the sun was barely up!

He decided that the only thing to do was to go down to the lobby and complain. As he had fallen asleep last night wearing his clothes from yesterday, he decided not to change right away and merely slipped outside his room.

The first thing that he noticed upon exiting was the stretcher, sinking under the weight of a motionless fully-grown man who appeared to be covered in a sticky black substance.

" Are you sure you're done with this, Dr. Hobson?" a man in a white jumpsuit asked a similarly attired petite blonde woman.

" For now. Thank you, John," the woman replied, and with the aid of another man, " John" carried the stretcher down the hallway.

" Hobson." The name stirred something in Lightman's memory, though he wasn't actually sure of what. The psychologist approached the woman anyway. His curiosity had been whetted, though more from the body than from the familiar name.

" Excuse me," Lightman said as he finally reached the woman. " What's going on here?"

" A body was found here at the hotel, and from the look of things, the poor soul was the victim of foul play. I'm afraid I can't tell you anymore than that at the moment."

" Why not? I can help you out. I've got loads of experience dealing with this sort of stuff."

" I appreciate your concern, but I think this is best left to the professionals for the present."

" Of which I am one." She looked at him confusedly, and he held out his hand. "Cal Lightman, founder of the Lightman group. I specialize in emotion detection."

Hobson didn't take his hand, and her lips twitched in a momentary, almost imperceptible grimace as her nostrils flared slightly.

_Disgust._

But why? As far as he was aware, he hadn't done anything too distasteful. Maybe she simply disliked people trying to do her job for her. But still, she had seemed far more pleasant before he'd mentioned his name.

" Oh, yes, I've heard _all_ about you," the woman replied, and she didn't seem at all impressed by his stellar credentials. Her eyes narrowed angrily. " Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work," she said coolly as she brushed passed him into a bedroom.

" Who was that, Laura?" Lightman heard a voice ask from inside the room.

Hobson's voice responded. " _That_ was no one of consequence. Just a nosy tourist with nothing better to do than interfering in other people's lives."

Lightman was about to charge into the room and make a stinging retort when something stopped him.

" _Interfering in other people's lives"?_ He supposed it was true, but " interfering" was still a strong word. And it wasn't exactly her _life_ for which he'd expressed curiosity—just her work. And then there was her sudden decision to dislike him, a decision that seemed rooted more in his name than his desire to help.

Laura Hobson. _Why did the name seem so bloody familiar?_

Suddenly, it all came back to him. Jean, the pretty brunette from _The Grapevine_, had given her name at first as " Laura Hobson" and had then confessed that Hobson was actually a friend that was supposed to meet her there. After she'd spurned his advances, Jean must have contacted her friend and tipped her off about what had happened. This would certainly explain Hobson's coldness toward him, and her comment about his interfering in other people's lives.

Lightman felt a light tap on his shoulder, and turned to see an older man with a heavily lined face and kindly blue eyes.

" Excuse me," the man said gently. " I need to ask you some questions about last night…"

**Sorry it took so long to update. I had a bit of writer's block combined with severe interest in some of my other stories combined with vacation. Hopefully the next chapter will be up sooner. Thank you to ShadowSwan for the kind review and to everyone else who has favorited/alerted. I really appreciate it.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Ria Torres was not in a very good mood. Lightman had woken her up at one o'clock to ask a question that easily could have waited until morning. After he'd left, Torres had tried for hours to get back to sleep, finally succeeding at 4:30. And now she was being woken up for the second time by a loud banging on her door. Lightman had better have a good excuse this time!

She cursed under her breath and got out of bed. When she opened the door, she was surprised to see, not Lightman, but a tall blond man who quickly flashed a police badge at her.

" I need to ask you a few questions." His voice was wonderful voice: deep and masculine with a charming British accent that was a thought more refined than Lightman's. And in Ria's opinion, the policeman wasn't bad-looking either, although he appeared a bit intense with his strong, aristocratic features and severe buzz cut.

"Come inside," she said, opening the door a little wider.

" Thanks."

He entered, and she motioned for him to sit on an armchair in the corner of the room. She found another chair for herself and scooted it over to him.

She looked up and instant realized that he was staring at her closely. She sat there for a minute watching him watch her, observing his somewhat-dilated pupils and the slight muscle twitch just above his jaw. Torres may have been a newcomer to the Lightman Group, but she recognized these facial cues easily.

Ria Torres was used to complete strangers checking her out; she knew that she was beautiful. But what many less-attractive people would have counted as a blessing, Ria knew for a curse. Being pretty meant that most people would always judge Ria by her appearance first and foremost. Many women tended to resent her out of jealousy, but some attempted to befriend her in the hopes of picking up some of her leftovers. Men, on the other hand, usually saw her only as a sexual object and forgot that there was an intelligent brain that went along with that killer body.

When the policeman noticed that he had been caught staring, he looked away in embarrassment. Torres quickly decided to end the awkward silence that followed.

" Why exactly do you need to talk to me?"

" I need to ask you where you were last night, and if possible, who you were with."

" Wait! I know this; this is alibi talk—isn't it? Something's happened, and you're questioning people. So, come on spill it! What's going on?"

" There was a rather brutal murder in this hotel committed sometime last night. We're questioning all the hotel guests as well as all the staff members to find out all we can. I'm afraid that's all I can tell you."

" Murder! But who…it's…it's not _Lightman_—is it?" Part of Torres had been suspecting this the moment she'd answered the door. She knew that her boss had made his fair share of enemies. Lightman's obnoxious personality alone made him difficult to deal with at times. And the fact that the man could catch you in any lie—big or small, harmless or lethal—made him a target for the most violent of attacks.

Torres had known that it was only a matter of time before her boss offended the wrong person and ended up in major trouble from which she'd be unable to save him. She just hadn't counted on it being so soon in their relationship. She'd known Lightman for less than a year now—and though they weren't exactly bosom buddies, they were partners. Torres thought with regret of all that Lightman would be unable to teach her and mentally thanked him for all that he had already taught her.

The blond policeman raised an interested eyebrow." Lightman?"

" Cal Lightman. He's my boss. We came here together. He needed to give a lecture at one of the colleges and took me with him."

" What does he look like?"

" Late forties. About 5'7." Medium build. Reddish brown hair and a stubbly beard…"

" That's enough. The man who was killed is at least 5'10" and has dark black hair and no beard."

Torres sighed in relief. " Thank God."

" You're close to him, this Lightman chap?"

" As close as anyone could possibly be. He's very private and isn't really into deep, meaningful conversations about life. He can also be very hard to deal with at times…actually scratch that…I meant to say _all_ the time. But I do care about him. He's taught me a lot, and he's amazing at what he does."

" And what is it that he does?"

Ria hesitated. She knew that it was risky to talk about her work with anyone. She'd learned the hard way that sharing too much too soon could have devastating consequences. But as the policeman seemed trustworthy and as the Oxford press had already given Lightman a considerable amount of publicity following the Myles Harrison case, she decided to take a chance. " He's a psychologist, and he specializes in analyzing body language, particularly determining whether or not someone is telling the truth."

" Wait, I think I've heard of him. He recently solved a case that's been giving us some problems."

Ria gave him an apologetic smile." Yeah, sorry about that. We didn't mean to move in on your turf."

The policeman's eyes twinkled. " I guess you're forgiven. Just don't do it again. We Oxford policemen can get highly territorial about our cases." He paused and then continued a minute later." So anyway...I'm sorry, but I can't for the life of me remember your name."

"That's my fault; I don't think I ever told you what it was. I'm Ria, Ria Torres. And you are…?"

"Sergeant Hathaway, Oxfordshire Police."

" What, no first name?" she teased. "Or is 'Sergeant' your first name?"

He smiled slightly. "No, it's…it's James, actually. But…we're getting off topic. I still need to know what you did last night so that we can eliminate you from our inquiries."

" Lightman and I got back from dinner at about 8:45 p.m. He went out for a…a drink, and I stayed back at the hotel. I was really tired; I'm still getting over the time difference. While we working on the Harrison case, my boss didn't give me enough time to _breathe_—let alone to sleep. Anyway, I was hoping for some quality snooze time and got some—temporarily. Lightman woke me up at around one for a quick question, and I've been trying unsuccessfully since then to go back to sleep. And before you ask, I didn't see or hear anything unusual."

" Well, in that case, I suppose I'll let you get back to your resting." Hathaway said as he rose to his feet.

" For which I thank you." Torres said as she showed the policeman to the door.

Though she contemplated following Hathaway's advice of going back to sleep, Torres eventually decided against doing so. After all, it would only be a matter of time before Lightman learned about all this and woke her up again so that they could start investigating.

* * *

><p>So that they would have a quiet place to discuss the previous night's events, DI Robbie Lewis led the man outside of the crowded hallway into the hotel lobby, deserted safe for the ever-present concierge.<p>

The inspector and his companion each took a seat in one of the many armchairs in the room. Lewis quickly introduced himself, and was about ask his companion to do the same when the stranger spoke without being prompted.

" So, I take this is about that man who I saw getting pulled out of here on a stretcher. I didn't recognize him, but I'm still curious to know who he is. Are you going to tell me?"

" No, and I believe that _I'm_ the one asking the questions here."

The man shrugged. " Suit yourself; though you'd be making a big mistake by not accepting my help."

Lewis studied him, wishing very much that he could rip the man's smug smile off his face. Detective Inspector Lewis considered himself a very nice, mild-mannered man most of the time, but one of the few things that really irritated him was arrogance, particularly of the "kiss my royal arse" variety commonly found amongst Oxford dons and also seemingly this man.

Lewis was able to cope with Hathaway's cheekiness, because the sergeant had proven time and time again that–though he was a bit proud—he wasn't selfish in the least. Besides if anyone had the right to be a little full of himself, it was James who was young, clever, good-looking, and charming.

But the man in front of Robbie shared none of these traits that might justify egotism. He wasn't very tall for one thing—or particularly handsome. Although the man was by no means _old_, he wasn't exactly a spring chicken either. He had to be at least forty-five, Lewis reckoned, maybe even fifty. He had a large, hawk-like nose and rather prominent ears. A scruffy auburn beard framed his strong chin. Furthermore, his hair and clothes were rumpled as though he'd only just awoken. He also smelled rather strongly of alcohol, and there was a large, tan stain on his shirt, which seemed to support the theory that the man had been doing some serious drinking the previous night. The physical presence he created was of such overall unkemptness that Jean Innocent, a firm believer in the importance of being well groomed, would likely have loathed him upon sight.

From the short time that Lewis had known the man, he didn't seem particularly charming either. He was blunt, abrupt, and outspoken.

Yet, the man wore a perpetual expression of self-satisfaction anyway, and it continued to grate on Lewis's nerves.

" Alright," the man said, " since you seem reluctant to ask questions, I'll answer them without being asked. After having dinner with my colleague, I went out for a drink at _The Grapevine_. I came back to the hotel at about one o'clock, talked briefly with my associate, and then went to bed. I can put all of this in writing if you need me to."

" That won't be necessary."

" Are you sure? You seem to me the quintessential lower-middle class English policeman, and in all my previous experience, police officers—particularly of the English lower-middle class variety —have notoriously poor memories."

Lewis felt a sudden hot surge of anger. Another of his other pet peeves was not being taken seriously. Sure, he didn't have the intellectual background or sizeable income that other people did, but that certainly didn't make him incompetent! "'Your previous experience?' So, you're no stranger to interrogation, then?" The words came out harsher than he'd planned, but he'd tried as best he could to conceal his hostility.

Fortunately, the man seemed unperturbed by Lewis's momentary outburst. In fact, he looked almost amused. " Certainly not. Though I'm usually the one _doing_ the interrogating." Lewis raised a skeptical eyebrow, and the man continued. " Cal Lightman, Oxford, Class of '82, now founder and current CEO of the Lightman Group in Washington D.C." He said all of this grandly, as though it was supposed to impress Lewis; needless to say, Lewis was not impressed in the slightest.

" Or in plain English," the man continued, " current leader of the first formal organization of human polygraphs—though we're a good deal more accurate than those error-prone machines."

Lightman! Now, Lewis knew why the name sounded so familiar. He was the one who'd solved that arson case that had completely stumped Lewis's old friend and colleague Adrian Kershaw. He also recalled the lecture to which Innocent had subjected the entire station during the subsequent public relations disaster.

" What I need you all to remember is that though this New-Age psycho-babble may have caught the media's attention temporarily, it's good, old-fashioned police work that really matters in the long run," the chief superintendent had said. " And I expect nothing more or less than that from you in the future."

Part of the reason that Innocent's lecture had stuck with Lewis so well was that this incident was one of the few times when he and the chief superintendent were in perfect concord with each other. It wasn't that Lewis shared Innocent's love of procedure—though he did do his best to follow proper guidelines whenever he could. No, the real reason that he had agreed with his boss was that he shared her fear that "New Age psycho-babble" might someday become the status quo.

If there was anything Detective Inspector Robbie Lewis hated even more than pompous Oxfordians, it was psychologists. The way they spouted a lot of nonsense and then patted themselves on the backs for solving everyone's problems. The way they looked you in the eye and asked you to talk about your "feelings" and then suggested that secret, sinister motivations might be behind those feelings. Most of all, the way they pretended to understand, when they really only cared about getting their hands on your money.

At Chief Superintendent Strange's insistence, Lewis had spent several months in counseling during the aftermath of Val's death. To say that these sessions had been ineffective was an understatement; if anything talking to a psychologist had only intensified Robbie's misery regarding the loss of his wife.

The inspector focused his attention back to the man sitting across from him. If Lightman had been merely a psychologist or merely an alumnus of Oxford, Lewis would still have disliked him. But the fact that the man was two of the things that Robbie most despised …

" Can anyone confirm your whereabouts last night?"

" Sadly not. Other than a brief conversation with my partner, I was depressingly alone all night. I had hoped for a visitor of the female persuasion to join sometime during the night, but no such luck, I'm afraid."

" Right," Lewis said carefully. " Well…er…I guess that's all, then?" He got up from his chair.

"That most certainly is not all, inspector! You still haven't told me who the murdered man was."

" I'm afraid that's classified information for the present."

" You don't know—do you?"

Lightman was correct about this, but Lewis was not going to give the other man any satisfaction by admitting it. " That information is private for now," he said simply. "Though I'm sure that tomorrow's newspaper will clear up any questions that you may have."

" Patience has never been one of my strong points, I'm afraid."

' _Why am I not surprised_?' Lewis thought to himself. " That's really too bad," he said aloud. "Goodbye, Mr. Lightman."

" Goodbye _for now_, inspector."

' For now?' What was _that_ supposed to mean? Lewis pondered this as he moved to leave the room, but Lightman's voice stopped him. " And, inspector? A word of advice: don't lie in the future; you're pathetic at it."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

" Ma'am?" Detective Chief Superintendent Jean Innocent looked up from her desk to see her sergeant staring pointedly at her.

" What is it?"

" There are some people outside. They don't have an appointment, but they said they said that it's really important that they speak to you anyway."

Innocent sighed. " Very well; send them in."

The sergeant exited and a moment later two people entered the room. The dark-haired young woman walked straight over to Innocent and gave a pleasant smile." You must be Chief Superintendent Innocent. It's a pleasure to meet you," the woman said, revealing a distinctly American accent. The chief superintendent nodded amicably, but her eyes remained focused on the man still standing by the door. _ What was __**he **__doing here? Hadn't she made it very clear that she never wanted to see him again?_

The young woman spoke again. " I'm Ria Torres, and this is my mentor Cal Ligh—"

" We've met," Innocent interjected, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice but sure that Lightman had caught it anyway.

" Torres, why don't you go talk to some of the officers? Try to find out what they know so far. I think I'll be able to handle this on my own.

Before Jean was able to open her mouth in protest, the young woman had left the room, and Innocent was left alone with Lightman.

The psychologist walked over to the chief superintendent's desk." You don't need to be afraid of me, Jean. I don't bite."

" Who says I'm afraid?" Innocent said as she drew herself up from her chair proudly.

" Your lungs. The moment I told Torres to leave, your breathing rate skyrocketed. Even though I couldn't hear it from the door, I could tell from the rapid rising and falling of your chest."

" If you don't mind Mr. Lightman, I'd really appreciate if you kept your eyes off my chest from now on," the chief superintendent snapped.

The psychologist shrugged." Very well, luv—if you insist."

" I do," Innocent said coldly. She returned to her seat and focused her attention on the paperwork atop of it; she hoped that if she merely ignored Lightman for a little while, he'd eventually lose interest and go away.

" So, you're a copper then?"

" Yeah," Innocent muttered absently, pretending to be riveted by an old expense report.

" You should have told me that the other night."

"So it would have been easier for you to find me again?"

" Nah so I'd have known not to make those disparaging remarks about your colleagues."

" I see how it is; you'd have lied or—at the very least—misled me. A bit ironic really for someone who's very job is to _catch_ liars," the chief superintendent said, applying double the necessary pressure on her pen as she signed off on a document.

" Well, it takes one to know one," Lightman said, chuckling. " Serious answer, though—the truth can sometimes be just as dangerous as lies—more dangerous even."

Much as she hated to admit it, Innocent found this a very intriguing answer. However, she did her best not to show her interest by refusing to lift her eyes from her work even momentarily. " Is that so?"

Lightman continued speaking, though Innocent pretended not to hear." Just because I can see the truth more readily than others, that doesn't mean I always endorse its utilization. Not everyone feels that way, though. I have a colleague who's sworn to always tell the truth even when it's uncomfortable.' Radical Honesty'—they call it. Gets him _into_ far more trouble than out." He paused for a minute before speaking again." Hasn't anyone ever told you that it's polite to maintain eye contact with people who are talking to you?"

Innocent continued to keep her eyes firmly planted on her desk as she replied. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Mr. Lightman. I'm simply not accustomed to receiving etiquette lessons from someone who has no manners of his own."

" You're a fine one to talk. I notice you haven't invited me to sit down either."

" Go ahead, then. Sit, stand, do somersaults; it makes no difference to me. Just please don't touch anything—including and especially yours truly."

Lightman sat in the chair directly opposite the chief superintendent's. " I already told you, Jean; I'm not here to harass you."

She finally glanced up from her work to look him in the eye." Then, why are you here?"

" I've come to offer you my…my services."

The intensity of his gaze made her blush in spite of herself." I guess I didn't make myself clear enough. I'm not at all interested in obtaining your '_services,_' Mr. Lightman—regardless of how eager you may be to obtain mine."

" My offer still stands, luv, and I can assure you; you won't be disappointed if you choose to accept," said Lightman as he gave a lecherous wink. "However, I was actually referring to my professional services. As you may recall from the other night, I'm staying at _The Hampton_—the very hotel where a murder was recently committed. I confess; I'm more than a little curious about the case and want to investigate it. I'd be honored to get your boys out of another tight spot."

" My 'boys' don't need your help; they are perfectly able of handling this on their own."

Lightman raised a questioning eyebrow." Just like they were 'perfectly capable of handling' the Harrison case?"

" Just like they are perfectly capable of handling any and all cases placed before them. I can assure you that we were extremely close to solving the Harrison case before you so rudely intervened."

" I'd have thought that you'd have figured out by now that it's pointless to lie to me."

" It takes a liar to know a liar," she repeated coolly.

" Well-said. Though to be fair, while you've lied to me several times since we've met, _I _haven't lied to _you _once."

" Small comfort—considering that everything you _have _told me so far has been at least mildly offensive, albeit totally honest."

" True, it's a shame really—since _you've_ been _so_ friendly and complimentary to _me_. I still haven't thanked you for calling me a 'narcissistic bastard' yet—have I?"

" Are you mocking me?"

" No, I'm merely pointing out the hypocrisy of your behavior," Lightman said calmly.

The chief superintendent gave a harsh laugh. " Yet, you obviously haven't taken into consideration the hypocrisy of your own behavior. Now if you don't mind, Mr. Lightman, I'd really appreciate it if you left now. You're keeping me from some very important work."

" Very well, then." Lightman rose from his chair and held out his hand. " I look forward to working with you, Jean."

Innocent refused the hand offered to her." I thought I've made it clear that I don't want you—or your help—in any capacity."

" Oh, you have made that very clear, luv. But I'm afraid _you_ don't have any say in the matter." And with that, Cal Lightman walked over to the door and left the room.

* * *

><p><em>Two Hours Later<em>

DCS Innocent picked up her ringing phone only to be greeted by the dreaded nasal tones of her immediate superior. " I've just been informed that you were approached this afternoon by Dr. Cal Lightman who offered his assistance on _The Hampton_ murder."

Most people would have been taken aback by the chief constable's lack of a "hello," but Innocent had grown accustomed to her boss's brusque, business-like manner. " That is correct."

" Am I also to understand that you refused the aid that he offered?"

" Of _course_, I refused. My officers are clever, hard working, and efficient. We don't _need_ any outside help—particularly from the likes of Cal Lightman!"

" I'm not so sure about that."

" _What_?" She'd been so sure that the chief constable would be on her side—that he'd feel that the Oxfordshire Police needed to reassert its authority by solving the next case on its own.

"I was fortunate enough to attend Dr. Lightman's lecture at Gresham College—fascinating stuff. It would be foolish of us not to take advantage of such a valuable resource, especially considering that he's only in town for a few more days and that he's offering his consulting services free of charge."

" That's only because he feels sorry for us—thinks we're a bunch of idiots, to be precise. Well, he's the stupid one for thinking so. Stupid and arrogant and obnoxious and ill-mannered and unkempt and… "

" _And_ extremely effective. Don't forget that he caught an arsonist in three days, while your officers sat twiddling their thumbs for over a week-and-a-half. Now other than your personal dislike for the man is there any particular reason why you shouldn't work together?"

Of course, there was. Lightman hadn't just humiliated Innocent indirectly by mocking her subordinates; he'd also humiliated herpersonally both at _The Grapevine_ and back in her office. But Jean somehow doubted that the chief constable would be sympathetic to this explanation.

So what if Lightman had made a pass or two at her? It wasn't like he was the first man ever to have done so. Innocent couldn't begin to count the number of times she'd caught male subordinates surreptitiously ogling her cleavage over the past three years alone. Though it had annoyed her, she'd never publicly complained about it. Because of her gender, some of the "old boys" already questioned her suitability for the job, and the chief constable would feel even less sure of her competence if she started grumbling about feeling harassed at work.

Wasn't it the same thing with Lightman? He was only a man after all—albeit an infuriating one; Innocent was certainly strong and clever enough to handle him if push came to shove.

" No, there's no particular reason we can't work together. Other than the fact that our personalities mix about as well as oil and water."

" Good, it's settled then. And I want your people to give Dr. Lightman a very warm welcome—one that won't make him change his mind about helping us. He's made it very clear that he's going to continue to investigate with or without our assistance. And if he manages to solve the case on his own right under our very noses again…"

Realizing that she had absolutely no choice in the matter, Jean sighed profusely. "I understand. I don't like it, but I'll do it."

" That's all I ask. Dr. Lightman has a few things to get settled today, but he and his partner will stop by the station tomorrow morning at 9:30 sharp and will be able to spend the rest of the day with the detectives you've assigned to the case."

_' Joy, bloody rapture," _Jean thought to herself as she fantasized vaguely about conveniently "falling ill" at precisely 9:30 sharp the next morning. Aloud, she said. "Very well, then."

" Good, in that case, I'll let you get back to work. And Jean…"

" Yes?"

" Mr. Lightman is our guest. Treat him with a little more respect—will you?"

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry it took so long to update. I've been very preoccupied with schoolwork and with other fics (at least 10 by my count, though some are still in the beginning stages). Hope it won't take me too long to update again. <strong>

**Reviews are encouraged.**


End file.
